Ragnar the Red
by Dawnfire8
Summary: My take on the story of Ragnar the Red. If you like it I might expand it into a full story so please leave a review. Rated T for violence and bad humor.


**I decided to write this one-shot since it is taking me quite awhile to fix the plot for my other story. I came up with this idea this morning and managed to finish it in a few hours so there might be a few mistakes. If you like this I might write another story about the main character I came up with for this story. Now onto the show.**

* * *

**Ragnar the Red**

The inn was alive with the sound of music, mercenaries singing and drinking, and the smell of venison roasting over a warm fire. It seemed that the bitter winds that weaved through Skyrim had no effect on the cheerful atmosphere of the inn.

As the guests continued to enjoy their stay, the doors of the inn suddenly swung open to reveal a new visitor. The visitor was a young girl with dark brown eyes and black hair covered in bits of frost. She wore an old set of leather armor and a thin black hood that did little to block out the cold winds. She had a hunting bow strung to her back and a pair of daggers and a sword resting on her waist. The inn keeper would have dismissed her as another teenager who wanted to cause trouble if it wasn't for the dullness in her eyes that was an obvious sign of exhaustion.

Once the visitor sat down in one of the stools in front of the innkeeper's bar, she began to introduce herself.

"Welcome to the Bannered Mare! I'm Hulda. What's your name?"

The visitor yawned before answering quietly, "Stella."

Hulda's eyebrows rose in surprise. "How may I help you, Stella?"

"Some food, a glass of water, and a bed would be nice."

Hulda nodded her head before reaching beneath the bar and placing a bowl of venison stew and a bottle of mead before the young girl. Stella furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"I asked for water not mead."

"Water? Why would we have water? All we serve is mead, ale, and wine," Hulda answered with an equally confused look on her face.

Stella just stared at her blankly before shaking her head and pulling the cork off the bottle of mead. _Sheesh, does anyone drink water around here?_

As Stella slowly ate the venison stew and took a few hesitant sips of mead she listened to the song the bard was playing in the background.

"_Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red _

_Who came riding to Whiterun from ole rorikstead _

_And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade _

_As he told of bold battles and gold he had made_

_But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red_

_When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said;_

'_Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead_

_Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!'_

_And so then came clashing and slashing of steel_

_As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal_

_And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-_

_When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"_

Stella suddenly dropped her spoon into her bowl which caused some of the stew to splash onto the table. She turned around to look at the bard who was still standing there with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, bard guy," she barked at him. The bard turned around, his wide eyes and gaping mouth making him look like a scolded puppy.

"I have a name you know. It's Mikael," he cried indignantly, "and I prefer to be called as such."

Stella ignored his comment. "What's that song about?"

"Oh, Ragnar the Red? You wouldn't be interested in that. A lass like you would be more interested in hearing about a manly man like me!"

There were a few snickers in the background and Stella narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, cut it, Mikael. Everyone knows your a milk drinker," laughed the man seated on one of the benches surrounding the fire.

Stella nodded her head pensively. _So they drink milk too..._

Mikael cleared his throat and tried to clear the tears of embarrassment welling up in his eyes. "Well, if you'd like to hear about Ragnar the Red that much than I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you a little."

"Humor me," she said sarcastically.

"Anyway this is how the story goes..."

* * *

Ragnar was saddling up his horse when his mother stepped out of their small house in Rorikstead. His mother's frown turned into a look of disgust when she saw him.

"Ragnar, you deadbeat! When will you get a job? I've been working on this farm so you can move to the city and get a respectable job and here you are going off on one of your foolish adventures," his mother yelled at him.

"But Mom," he whined, "I want to be an adventurer!" His mother's eyes darkened with fury and she stomped up to him.

"Like you could be an adventurer. You can't fight, you're lazy, and you're an idiot. You wouldn't survive a day," she hissed and smacked him on the back of the head.

Ragnar ignored his mother and climbed onto his horse. "Goodbye my dear and _loving_ mother. When I return, I will be the greatest adventurer in the world!" As Ragnar's horse galloped further away from his home town, the enraged roars of his mother could still be heard echoing off the mountains.

As the hours slowly passed by, Ragnar thought about how he would quickly rise to fame. First he would start in Whiterun and gain the jarl's favor, then he would go out and slay hordes of bandits and fierce beasts until people were showering him with love and fortune. Ragnar laughed. What was his mother thinking? He couldn't possibly fail.

Ragnar's ride to Whiterun was pretty uneventful until he nearly ran over tree trunk laying across the road. Ragnar pulled his horse to a stop and climbed off to investigate.

The tree trunk turned out to be the corpse of some unfortunate warrior. The warrior was clad in shiny steel armor and held a large steel battleaxe. From the way his armor had a few dents and scratches Ragnar guessed that the warrior may have fallen down the side of a mountain and came to rest on the road.

With eyes shining with delight, Ragnar tore off the warrior's armor and put it on before picking up the battleaxe. The armor and weapon were extremely heavy but Ragnar knew that he would get used to the weight eventually. He shuffled back to his horse and heaved himself back on before continuing his journey to Whiterun.

It was nightfall when Ragnar finally reached Whiterun. He left his horse at the stables before slowly making his way to the gates. As the guards let him through, Ragnar couldn't help but grin arrogantly.

_Take that Mom. Told you I could make it._

Ragnar didn't know anyone in Whiterun that he could stay with so he decided to spend the night at the inn.

Ragnar forcefully pushed the door open so it banged against the side of the wall. The sound from the door caused the people in the inn to turn around and stare at him in surprise. With a confident smirk, Ragnar strutted into the inn and plopped down at one of the tables. The other people in the inn rolled their eyes and returned to their conversations.

After awhile, one of the innkeepers walked up to him.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked politely.

Ragnar smirked. "Yes. Bring a bottle of mead for the great Ragnar the Red," he commanded, using the title he planned on using as an adventurer. The waitress nodded briskly and walked away. Ragnar's smirk turned into a huge grin. Looks like his tough looks were already gaining him respect.

The waitress eventually returned with his mead and he started drinking. When he was half finished with his drink two men came up to him and sat on the other side of his table.

"So," said the first one, a big hairy nord. "I overheard you saying that you were the great Ragnar the Red. That's a warrior's name."

"Of course it is. I am an adventurer," Ragnar bragged. The other man, an orc, laughed.

"If you're such a great warrior then why don't we here about your adventures."

Ragnar sweated a little. He wasn't expecting them to ask that. As soon as they found out he was only a boy who had just left home he would be labeled a fool and get laughed at. Ragnar couldn't afford for that to happen, so he did the only thing he could do.

"Well, you see these dents on my armor? I got them fighting one- no, two giants," he invented quickly, "all by myself."

The two warriors looked at each other in shock. "No, that's impossible. No one would be strong and foolish enough to do that!" the orc yelled.

Ragnar smirked. "Then I guess you two haven't got the strong part down."

"Tell us more," the nord begged eagerly.

After this, Ragnar and the two warriors shared stories of all the great battles they fought and coin they collected while slowly getting more inebriated from all of the mead they were drinking. While Ragnar was in the middle of a story about how he had defeated Alduin barehanded a woman suddenly walked up and glared down at him.

"Aw, Matilda. Why don't you sit down and listen to Ragnar the Red's stories?" the nord offered. Matilda only shook her head and returned her glare to Ragnar.

"Look at you, drinking all of our mead and telling these great _tales_ about your heroic exploits. All I see is some dirty little liar trying to get some attention," she growled viciously.

Ragnar felt his composure melt a little under her fiery glare. "Well, if you would like proof I can show you," he taunted, trying to hide the shaking in his voice.

"Very well, then everyone can see you live true to your name when you're laying on the ground bathed in your own blood."

Ragnar felt a small amount of worry at her words but pushed it down with another swig of his mead. She was just a lass. A man like him could handle her. With renewed confidence, Ragnar gave his most arrogant grin and stood up to face her.

Matilda gave him a slightly morbid smile and pulled out her sword. Ragnar snorted haughtily and pulled out his steel battleaxe.

Matilda must have seen something that gave away his lack of experience because she suddenly laughed and charged straight towards him. Ragnar panicked and attempted to block her attack but the mead and weight of his armor and battleaxe slowed him down and gave Matilda plenty of time to attack. Fortunately, his armor was strong enough to protect him from the force of her attacks.

The fight continued this way, Matilda giving an onslaught of attacks and Ragnar attempting to parry them. Everyone in the inn had gathered around to watch the fight and were currently cheering them on, except the inn's owner who was yelling for them to stop before they destroyed his precious inn. After awhile, both of the fighters began to tire out and in a moment of stupidity, Ragnar said the thing that he would regret for the rest of his short life.

"I guess a little lass like you can't handle a true warrior like Ragnar the Red. Maybe you should get back to the kitchen," he goaded foolishly.

It was as if a demon had possessed Matilda and turned her into a fiery ball enraged fury. With power that Ragnar didn't think any human or creature could possess, Matilda let out a ferocious roar and charged straight towards Ragnar with her sword ready to strike.

Ragnar's last thoughts before Matilda's sword connected with his neck were why his mother was always right. Then Ragnar the Red finally joined the dead.

As his head rolled across the ground, a brave warrior by the name of Mikael the Heartthrob charged into the inn and conquered the vicious beast Matilda with his strength and good looks before more people were destroyed by her wrath. Mikael the Heartthrob was then worshipped by men and women for-

* * *

"Hey! That's not how the story goes," roared Hulda before chucking a keg of mead across the room. Mikael shrunk away in fright when the keg exploded against the wall.

"I-I guess I've forgotten the rest of the story. I'm tired so I'll be going to bed now," Mikael stuttered before scurrying off like a frightened mouse.

Hulda cleared her throat before staring softly at a now bewildered Stella. "Well, you've had a long night. Why don't I show you to your room?"

Stella suddenly felt very tired. All of the traveling she had done today plus the effects of mead, even though she had only had a few reluctant sips, had taken a toll on her. She nodded tiredly to Hulda and followed her quietly to her room. As soon as Hulda wished her a good night and left the room, Stella collapsed onto the bed without bothering to take off her armor first.

As Stella drifted off to sleep she experienced the strangest of dreams.

Stella found herself standing outside the stables of Whiterun. The sky was dark and starless, the only source of light coming from Masser and Secunda. The area that was normally filled with guards, farmers and their animals was now void of all life.

Stella looked around in confusion. _Where is everyone?_ _I don't remember coming out here. _She shrugged. _Must have sleepwalked again. I guess everyone's still sleeping too._

"Who dares disturb my rest?" hissed a voice behind her.

Stella whirled around and nearly leapt out of her skin at what she saw. A few feet away from her was a ghastly man sat upon an old nearly transparent horse. The man wore what looked like steel plate armor and held a battleaxe. However, what really made her skin crawl was the rider's lack of a head.

"How can you talk without a head?" Stella cried in bewilderment, her eyes nearly as large as the moons themselves. Instead of answering her question the phantom merely chuckled before turning away and riding down the road leading west.

"Wait," Stella called after him as his form began to fade into the darkness. Stella sighed in disappointment before she heard a quiet whinny behind her. When she turned around she found a mottled gray horse standing inside one of the stalls. Without thinking the least bit about how Skulvar would feel if she took one of his horses or how the horse had magically appeared out of thin air, as Stella's common sense tended to evaporate as soon as her head hit the pillow, she climbed onto the horse's back and rode off in pursuit of the headless horseman.

Stella could not see the ghost at first, but after following the road for a few minutes she spotted the ghost's horse galloping down the road ahead of her. Stella lost sight of the rider a couple of times, but managed to keep up by following the trail of glowing mist the apparition left in his wake.

When Stella finally caught up with him, the ghost took an abrupt right turn and picked up his pace leaving Stella more frustrated yet curious at the same time.

The chase continued for what felt like hours and Stella quickly grew bored. As the sky began to show signs of dawn and Stella finally decided end the chase and return home the rider took another sudden turn and disappeared. With a renewed curiosity, Stella dismounted the horse and ran after the horseman.

When she turned the corner she found herself standing near the entrance of a graveyard filled with tombstones and nightshade plants. Stella looked around the graveyard, her mouth wide in wonder, when her eyes fell upon the phantom standing in the middle of the graveyard.

With a glare that Stella felt more than saw, the phantom whispered, "You are not welcome here." Stella shuddered at the phantom's words and reached for her sword as she began to hear the scratching of fingers beneath the ground. As the bony white hands of skeletons began to emerge from their graves, the phantom whispered his final words before completely fading into the growing sunlight.

"_All the living shall fear the dead."_


End file.
